Kirk's Completely Logical Executive Decision
by fireonfire
Summary: Another redshirt dies in a ridiculous way. Captain Kirk makes an executive decision.


Warnings: Brief Language. Complete disregard for the deaths of fictional characters of my own creation. Insanity.

Disclaimer: I don't own Star Trek or Star Wars

* * *

**Kirk's Completely Logical Executive Decision **

* * *

The mission was going rather well. The colonists were friendly, the colony was thriving, and there was no danger to be seen. Jim was relieved to have a nice, simple mission for a change.

They did, however, need an extra pair of hands to lift a few supplies out of the storage shuttle. So Jim called up to the _Enterprise_ and asked for a spare security officer to be beamed down.

There was a glow of gold as the security officer beamed onto the surface. As it faded, a man in a regulation red shirt stepped towards Jim, smiling pleasantly and saluting. Jim directed the officer to the supplies that needed lifting when he heard a strange growling noise.

One of the colonists heard it too, and looked around, asking: "What's that sound?"

A female colonist replied, "It sounds like an animal."

Jim reached instinctively for his phaser, but before he could draw it, an enormous bear-like creature erupted from behind a nearby bush. Upon closer inspection, Jim saw that though it was shaggy and as big as a bear, it had the jaws of a crocodile. Definitely alien.

That was all he could make out of the creature before it charged, leapt, and swallowed the redshirt whole, leaving nothing left but some tattered shreds of his red shirt. The creature then burrowed into the ground like a mole on steroids and disappeared from sight.

As the colonists panicked, running for the nearest shelter and screaming, Jim picked up the remains of the red shirt and sighed.

* * *

"Damn it," Jim grumbled as he stepped off the transporter pad, holding the scraps of red cloth out for everyone to see. By everyone, he meant Scotty and Spock.

"Another one?" Scotty asked.

"Yep," Jim replied. "Eaten by a crocodile-bear-mole creature."

"Aye," Scotty said mournfully, going to a whiteboard behind the transporter that read "Days Without Incident" and resetting the number from 1 to 0.

Jim sighed, looking at the board. "Maybe someday we'll break three," he said.

He tossed the tattered shirt remains into the garbage. "Or maybe this whole ship is cursed."

"Illogical," Spock said. "If this ship were truly cursed, it would make no sense that neither you, nor I, nor doctor McCoy have met our untimely ends, seeing as we beam into hostile situations on a weekly basis. Although none of this matters, as curses do not exist."

"Yeah, I guess," Jim agreed. "C'mon Spock. To the bridge."

* * *

Scotty gaped as the Captain beamed back onto the _Enterprise_, bruised and bloody and again carrying the remains of a red shirt.

"What happened?" he asked.

Jim grimaced. "Ninja butterflies. With razor wings."

* * *

Scotty watched apprehensively as Jim and an unnamed redshirt beamed away onto a planet inhabited solely by dust mites.

Seconds later, the Captain ordered a beam-up. He appeared unscathed, but holding a ripped red shirt.

"Killer windmill," Jim said by way of explanation.

* * *

Spock raised a questioning eyebrow as Jim beamed aboard clutching a single scrap of red cloth.

"Spontaneous human combustion," Jim muttered.

Spock's eyebrow climbed higher. "Illogical."

* * *

This time when Jim beamed aboard, the red shirt he carried was intact, and the pants were slung over one shoulder as well. But the officer was nowhere in sight.

"Flesh-eating acid," Jim said before Scotty could ask. "It's harmless to clothing, though."

Instead of depositing the clothes in the trash bin labeled "red shirts," he took them down to the laundry.

* * *

Jim beamed aboard. "Mud monster," he gasped, throwing the red shirt at Scotty.

* * *

Jim winced, mopping blood off his arm with a shredded red sleeve. "Giant rabid rabbit creature."

* * *

Jim was wide-eyed as he stepped off the transporter pad, waving a ruined red shirt excitedly. "It was a vulture! I swear! It came right out of the sky!"

* * *

Jim huffed, dropping the red shirt onto the ground dazedly. "I don't know Scotty. I really don't."

* * *

They were in orbit above a class "M" planet. In a conference room, Jim was conferring with Spock.

"What is the mission from Starfleet again?" Jim asked.

"I am not entirely sure," Spock replied. "They were not exactly clear. All I know is that you must go down to the planet, accompanied by a member of security. What you will encounter there is unknown."

"Great," Jim said. "Well, bring a security officer by my quarters, then."

Spock raised an eyebrow. "Your quarters, Captain?"

"Don't question. Just do it," Jim replied, running through a mental list of supplies he'd need.

* * *

The security officer was female. She went to salute him, but Jim just pulled her into his quarters and began throwing random garments at her.

She looked confused. "Sir?"

"Put those on," Jim instructed.

She began to look offended, but Jim reassured her, "Over your clothes, I mean."

Still confused, she nodded.

There was a short silence, then: "Sir, this appears to be chainmail."

Jim looked up from tying his shoes. "Oh? Yeah," he said. "Put it on."

She frowned, but complied.

Jim then picked up a bullet-proof vest and handed it to her. "This too."

She obeyed wordlessly, figuring this was some sort of test.

But after he'd dressed her in shin-guards, knee-pads, a padded space-jump helmet, a suit of armor and a fire-retardant jumpsuit, she just figured that Captain Kirk was insane.

"Here," he said. He handed her a phaser, which she clipped on to the huge utility belt he'd forced on her.

"And this," he said, handing her a broadsword in its scabbard. She eyed it warily before buckling it on.

"And this," he continued, handing her a pistol in its holster, which she strapped on above the utility belt.

"Captain?" she asked tentatively.

"Almost done," he said. He threw her a light saber. She clicked it on and found that the blade was purple. She liked purple.

"And…" He handed her one last thing.

"A grappling hook?" she questioned incredulously.

"They come in handy," Jim explained. "Okay. You're ready."

* * *

Jim felt as reassured as he could be. He led the redshirt—who was walking unsteadily under the extra padding—into the transporter room where Spock and Scotty were waiting.

Seeing the redshirt completely engulfed in protective wear and weapons, Spock raised an eyebrow in question.

"What?" Jim said defensively. "Cursed or not, nothing's gonna get _this_ redshirt."

"Illogical," Spock replied, "to think the color of her shirt has anything to do with it."

"Come on, let's go," Jim said, ignoring Spock.

The officer climbed laboriously onto the transporter pad and turned, waiting for her captain.

Jim took a moment to check again with Spock. "We're absolutely sure it's safe down there?"

"Yes Captain," Spock replied. "The planet is uninhabited."

"Good," Jim said, feeling like his confident self again. He sprung easily onto the transporter pad and nodded to Scotty. "Energize."

* * *

The mission was slow going, because the security officer couldn't walk very fast under all her extra protection, and had to take rest stops every few moments to regain her breath.

Jim felt reasonably sure it was worth it. He would finally go one mission without losing anyone. Just to be safe, though, he had drawn his phaser, set it to kill, and spun occasionally on the spot to be sure they weren't being followed. He even investigated every tree and bush they came across before letting the redshirt come near it.

The redshirt was getting annoyed. "Sir, I really think we're safe down here," she said impatiently as Jim turned over some suspicious-looking rocks, phaser at the ready.

He straightened up and sighed. "I suppose you're righ—"

Out of the clear blue sky, a bolt of lightning struck the redshirt, sending glowing sparks flying in all directions. The redshirt yelled out in surprise and fell.

"No!" Jim yelled, running to where she was laying, still smoking slightly from the electricity. "Oh no, no, no, no!"

He looked up at the clear sky where the lightning had come from. Inexplicably, the redshirt's charred red shirt fluttered dramatically from the sky on a gentle breeze. It landed softly on the grass beside him.

"Lightning!" he said. "Lightning, dammit!" He hadn't accounted for lightning.

The redshirt groaned in pain. "Captain?"

"Redshirt? You're alive!"

She groaned again. "Y…yeah."

Jim grinned triumphantly, but it fell when he realized that in the chaos after the lightning strike, the redshirt had dropped her broadsword and her grappling hook.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, and jumped to his feet to fetch the broadsword where it had landed a few feet away.

"Captain…" the redshirt protested as Jim came back and clipped the scabbard onto her again.

He jumped to his feet again to begin searching for the grappling hook.

"Captain…" the redshirt repeated impatiently.

"Grappling hook, grappling hook…" Jim muttered absently. "Ah!" he exclaimed. "Grappling hook!" Happy with his accomplishment, he fished the grappling hook out of a thorny bush.

"Captain," the redshirt said in frustration, "with all due respect, I don't _need_ the goddamn grappling hook!"

With a loud crunching sound, a hole suddenly opened up in the ground beneath the redshirt and she plummeted into it with a shocked scream.

Wide-eyed, Jim ran to the edge of the hole and looked in, but saw only blackness for miles and miles.

He spotted a tall tree stump conveniently placed at the edge of the bottomless pit. It was thin—aspen, probably—an easy thing to snag hold of…

If only she had had that grappling hook.

A random gust of wind suddenly blew the girl's charred red shirt into his face. He grabbed it and sighed.

* * *

"Attention, crew of the _Enterprise,_" Jim said into the intercom on his command chair. "This is your captain speaking."

Spock was watching Jim with a cocked eyebrow of confusion.

"Due to recent tragedies, I have been forced to make an executive decision."

He paused for dramatic effect.

"All red shirts are now banned from the _Enterprise_. Even the regulation red shirts—_especially_ the regulation red shirts. They will all be incinerated later tonight. Anyone caught with a red shirt afterwards will be immediately demoted and reassigned to a less prestigious starship with considerably fewer shiny buttons and levers. Kirk out."

Jim looked to Spock defiantly, waiting for him to declare Jim's actions illogical and human. The eyebrow climbed higher.

_Here it comes…_

Then Spock looked down at the grappling hook that Jim now carried everywhere he went, just in case.

Spock looked back at Jim, his eyebrow lowering. "A logical decision, Captain."

* * *

**FINIS**


End file.
